


Stars, Hide Your Fires (Let Light Not See My Black and Deep Desires)

by screaminghere



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, First Kiss, Historical, M/M, historic lams, idk - Freeform, might continue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 00:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10651131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screaminghere/pseuds/screaminghere
Summary: After making a face and steadying himself for a moment Alex says, "Rum. It was rum."





	Stars, Hide Your Fires (Let Light Not See My Black and Deep Desires)

**Author's Note:**

> song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVZUBMUekck

Arguments aren't Alexander Hamilton's forte, as many may think. Explaining is what came ever so naturally to him. However, every person that disagreed with him, and subsequently that he "explained" things to, seemed to always get offended, and after a while, despondent.

John Laurens ponders this as he watches the man with the fervent eyes speak in an even more feverish manner about the concepts involving infinities.

The opposing man, Robert Troup, because who else would be stubborn enough to sit through one of Hamilton's famous rants simply for a disagreement's sake, is no longer listening. His eyes appear to be glazed over as he's lost in thought, mind working and contemplating through the white noise of Alexander's rushed words and impassioned usage of figurative language, which is now being used to describe the mesopotamian theory describing a flat Earth. John isn't sure how relativity relates to proving how an infinite amount of one dollars bills is not equal to, and is indeed less than, an infinite amount of twenty dollar bills, but it's intriguing to listen to, nonetheless.

John finds his thoughts moving to how Alexander's voice complements his hair, and vice versa. The igneous auburn locks of long hair flowed elegantly and fiercely, although tied back and muddied (unlike Alexander's speech); the effects of the war.

"Honestly Robert it's quite rude to not even hear out your opposition's stand point. I'm even attempting to educate you on how some infinities are larger than others, a subject that you have yet to learn on, and yet you sit asleep with your eyes open." There's an edge to Alexander's voice that reminds John of a grade school teacher, or perhaps a mother. It makes him smile.

Robert blinks once, as if only just now realizing that Alexander is standing in front of him. "My apologies, what were you saying, Alexander?"

John snorts.

Alexander turns to glare at him, but it holds no angry fire, none truly like that he so often displays through his intense words. Although, perhaps alight in a more dangerous kind of fire, a hotter one with consistently fueled, by conversations and wandering eyes, flames that one could worryingly, and increasingly so, burn themselves on. 

John brushes aside the volatile tension, or rather sweeps it under the rug, as he returned the glare, although his eyes carry playfulness, and his lips carry a grin. It's not long until Alexander rolls his eyes, and his own mouth mirrors John's.

John flickers his eyes purposefully to the entrance of the stuffy cabin, prompting Alexander to leave the room with him, to which Alex obliges.

They both walk out, leaving Robert to day dream about God knows what, he doesn't even seem to notice their departure. 

The sun is going down.

"He's the most irksome and vexatious man I have ever met. Did you see his face when he realized that I was the one who was correct in the matter and not himself? It was the face of a man who knew he'd been beaten and would never say it. He ignored me on purpose, I swear it, that man is not dead John, he decides with such pertinent vigor that he'll allow himself to render me a fool at first glance without listening to a word of reason. I'll assure him, and anyone else who's concerned, that I am not a fool-" Alexander cuts off, staring at the ground as though he would like to give it a beating. "I'll write an enamored essay on infinities, that shall show him that I know of what I speak about and that I am not some child that he can simply discard the ideas of and push to the side." Alexander's face shows that he has the idea set in stone, but John attempts to shine the light of reason anyway.

"Alex," John begins, noting how he so casually addresses Alexander, and wondering for much less than a moment when it became the norm. "He will not care if you write a thousand essays on the matter, it's just the man that he is to not admit his faults." Alexander does not reply and they continue walking, although to where John is not sure. "Besides, I thought you considered him a friend."

Alexander scoffs, John marks this as distasteful when aimed towards him. "Please. As if he would want to be my acquaintance to the point of a friend." Slight self deprecation, not a usual occurrence for a Hamilton. Alexander looks him over, an act that causes John's body to react in a heated way, against his own will, "My dear John, you're truly my only friend here."

John's vocal chords are currently ill in usage as he stumbles over his thoughts to usher out a reply. Although knowing that he is perhaps not as quick witted as he likes to call himself, he doesn't think that anyone can make him quite as tongue tied as Alexander Hamilton can. His hands are shaky.

John opts to change the subject.

"Where are we headed, Alexander?" Although priding himself on his casual shorter nickname usage, John rather likes how Alexander's real name sounds coming from his mouth, making their intimacy more eloquent, which is possibly not the correct way to phrase the feeling, but the only way that John can put it. Although, in reformed thought, enjoying saying another man's name isn't exactly the definition of eloquent. John sweeps more thoughts under his mental rug.

"My cabin, although you do not have to accompany me. I'm only finishing up papers," Alexander answers, then muttering, "And starting that damned essay."

John's demeanor is altered to something of frustration. Although unsure of where they would be going to, he had hoped that Alexander would take a break from his unending writing. The lines of concentration on the other man's face have never once disappeared and it bothers John infinitively. Perhaps he could suggest that Alexander write about the infinities of irritation, specifically irritation aimed at a certain run at the mouth man whose last name is Hamilton.

If only John could reach out and smooth the outwardly perpetual contour of tension, perhaps focus Alexander's thoughts and careful contemplation onto something more pleasingly entangling and engaging. Once again precarious ideals arise, and John worries that there may not be much more room under the metaphysical rug inside his head that everything unsafe continues to be shoved under.

But the fancy of being one to conciliate Alexander's mind continues to resurface. The singed violet eyes of the man that John so adores are so relentlessly troubled that they likewise trouble him.

The bleeding red sunset shines over Alexander Hamilton's face, highlighting his frankly thinning features that moves John in that moment to fret about his exceedingly long nights, and then his also exceedingly early mornings, all without proper nutrition. The sun also showing the undermining blue in Alexander's eyes, and the way it sets his hair ablaze, feels like the plague. John gives up on attempting to usher away the thoughts, and instead looks to his shoes, which are now a tarnished and worn brown.

They're only a couple more feet from Alexander's cabin when boisterous noise erupts from a down wind section of the occupied camp. Smoke drifting upwards hints at a bonfire, and lively music seems to be playing.

John looks to Alexander.

"No." Alexander already knows what John wants.

"Oh you're no fun," John practically pouts, "Come, Alexander, take a break! One night of not toiling away shall not injure you to any extent," John reasons.

Alexander looks to the side, John's chest fills with encouragement; he can win this.

"Please? For me, dear friend?"

Another roll of the eyes and quirk of the lips from Alex, and John finds himself walking towards the rather loud, but undeniably exciting festivity, with Alexander, reluctantly, at his side.

An open bonfire, as John had predicted, lay before them, as a group of near twenty men, that was gradually growing, laughed in good spirit that most likely reflected the drinks in their hands. The largest stack of bottles of beer that John has seen in a long while are stacked next to another liquor that smells of rum, being poured from a rather small keg. 

Men appear to already be tipsy as they laugh and dance vigorously to others playing on lutes, drums, flutes, and basically any other instruments that they could get their hands on.

There's an unaccompanied canister closest to Alexander, who reaches out and downs its contents in a long gulp. Most likely not a good idea to do, but Alexander doesn't seem to run on health assured ideas.

After making a face and steadying himself for a moment Alex says, "Rum. It was rum."

John laughs out of surprise, and Alex responds with a dazzling smile betraying his act of mischief. John revels in the smile, glad to have been part of the reason it was caused, despite harsh and off-tune singing in the near background.

John grabs a beer, which Alexander then dares him to chug. John takes note that when Alex has alcohol in his system his maturity levels decrease immensely, but he scoffs and does as he's dared. Alex cheers, along with other men who had watched John chug.

They both get another beer and sit on the ground, listening to the out of tune music that doesn't seem to have a melody that agrees. Or rather, John is listening to the music and Alexander has gone into another tangent about Robert Troup. Most of the men around them, now near fifty, are ignoring him, but John eventually finds he would rather listen to Alexander's voice than a song. 

As John finds himself counting the freckles that are scattered across Alexander's face, it crosses his mind that him consuming alcohol and being near Alex, is not the greatest idea. He lacks the will power to stop, however.

Fifty-one, John concludes, is the number of little off-colored stars that have been splashed on his dear Alexander's complexion, not counting those below his forehead and cheeks. With that conclusion, comes another, which is that of how their faces are much too close together, if John can truly count his freckles.

Alexander also seems to come to terms with this revelation, as his speech is slowing, as though he's having trouble with thinking of words to say next. 

Alex glances from John's eyes, to John's slightly ajar mouth. The latter suddenly feels very hot.

John can smell the alcohol on Alexander's hot breath, it appears to be fogging his thoughts.

"Speaking of Robert and his incompetence regarding the theories surrounding infinity, you must begin that 'enamored' essay, yes?" 

Alexander nods, and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. Shadows are cast over his face, illuminating his eyes once again, and making his lips stand out prominently.

"Well then you simply must head back to your cabin, it's getting late."

Alexander nods for a second time and clears his throat, closing his mouth.

He then adds, with an honestly innocent smile, one that makes a sinking feeling appear in John's chest, "Perhaps you could do me the pleasure of keeping my company?"

"Why of course, dear friend." John finds that simply sweeping away the pangs of disappointment will do him no good, and decides to instead bury them, somehow.

It doesn't work.

They walk in the dark back to Alexander's cabin, the ground only being illuminated by the stars and a crescent moon. The cabin is one that Alexander has exclusively, thanks to his being a high ranking. It steers John's thoughts in a bad direction; the thoughts of them being alone in a private cabin. Those buried disappointments are arising like the living dead, accompanied by ghosts of shame.

Their bottles are left empty and forgotten in the bare patch of grass near the fire where they were sitting. It's frigid outside and John makes a crude comment on how his parts are sure to freeze off at some point during this winter. Alex snorts, and John thinks that perhaps that sound could warm him enough to last the entirety of the season naked.

Alexander fumbles with the doorknob, and John only then notices that the other man's hands are not steady. This realization does him no good as he now wishes to hold Alexander's hands until he calms enough to still them.

The door swings open creakily, and it's hardly any warmer inside, but the wind is no longer biting. It smells of must and all of the other scents that come with it being an old building. Alex walks to a stool by the wall and lights a candle there quickly, and then glances back to John, a friendly smile defining his lips, and a stray curl of red hair hanging defiantly in front of his face.

John simply cannot take it.

In the shortest of moments, John is too close to Alex, with him backed into the wooden wall of the cabin, and both of John's hands gently holding Alex's face.

The cabin is silent besides the sound of their breathing, of which Alexander's has gone violently quiet, and distant parading. John delicately lifts Alexander's chin with one of his hands, looking frequently between Alex's eyes and his lips. Their mouths are much too close for this to be considered only a friendly endeavor.

"Alex, please, tell me to not do this," John pleads in a voice that is too low and soft to even be considered a whisper and sounds defeaning. Everything that is happening right now has the capacity to ruin them both.

Alex doesn't move, doesn't make a sound. He looks as though he's lost. His lilac eyes are blown wide, but most prominently look frightened, and so is John, but he knows, just knows that there is something else behind Alexander's eyes, behind their partnership with each other; a fire that burns specifically for this moment.

"Don't let me do this." John's voice manages to break while below a murmur. His eyes speak of desperation.

Alexander kisses him.

John resolves that Alex feels like home and tastes like something fatal.


End file.
